40

  News broke out. The lands between paraded around their peaceful lands, telling every mortal and soul it could find the truth. The Lotus Blade had been defeated. That song rang like a symphony of hope from every voice who spoke the truth into existence. The countries that fell to the Specters, the ones who feared the blade, stood up. Revolution arrived, and at the taste of its lips, it was oh-so satisfying. A new era came. For it now is time for man to fight back.

  Edindale was no different from the rest of the world. The streets were smoldering ruins, with white flags and hundreds aiding the revolution. The name Omar Marshall, a Diborn who defied the blade, pushed their courage forth. Not a moment passed by that man feared the Specters anymore.

  No matter, the Specters were still strong, united, and prepared for everything that was to come. Dante the self-proclaimed King of Edindale brushed past the halls, with the Diborn guard hitting their spears to the floor as he passed by. His dark cloak billowing in the wind behind him. Those onyx crystal eyes glimmered with a dangerous intensity.

  Dante pushed open the double doors to the throne room. “I wondered when you would arrive.” Dante stared atop the throne, Dragni ordered the servants in shackles around him away. His goblet overflowing with blood-red wine.

  Dante’s glance was sharp and calculated, his royal robes demanded an audience. He strode forth in confidence not fearing the Demon God. He stunk of arrogance yet imposed a frightening grin for a Diborn.

  “Ah, the King.” Dragni stood from the throne, bowing to Dante. “Your grace.”

  “It's true then,” Dante scoffed, as his cheek blossomed from defeat. He shook his head. “He defeated the Lotus Blade. Now it's extinct from this world.”

  Dragni countered, “You did warn me, your family would pose a great threat.” He straightened his grin. His lips curled into a smile with a short chuckle. “Who would have thought a Diborn could pose such a power.”

  “So we are done for…?” Dante raised his arms. “My throne, this world, it never belonged to us, did it? Without the blade, we are nothing but mortal men. I was promised Godhood!” He snapped, kicking a lantern over like a child who didn’t get what he wanted. Anger built within him.

  Dragni dropped his goblet, wine spilling all over the gold silk carpet. He sighed, slowly descending down the staircase, his presence more imposing the longer Dante spoke. “We are no mortals.” He promised. A flicker of rage crossed his face and built behind the back of his throat. “I assure you, Eurafalia and everything within it is ours. There is always a plan b…”

  Dante’s anger vanished, replaced with a cold unyielding stare. “Oh?” He brushed Dragni’s shoulder and sat atop his throne. For a long moment, Dragni and Dante only exchanged this stare. Dante bent over on his throne with a sheer whisper. “How do you plan to retaliate then?” Dante’s blood-stained hand tightened his grip. “I am sick of killing mortals who think they possess the will to fight.” He laughed.

  Dragni’s hands clasped, with a short grin. “There is a way to bring the blade back. We saved a certain Diborn for this occasion and I believe it time we use our asset.”

  Frightening. Those words frightened Dante, for he knew what action carried after them. “Omar Marshall, the Pegasus. Malakai Blade, Buhamad. Dante King, God of Predators. Each one of you Diborn. But have we forgotten the Phoenix? A great power of resurrection?”

  Dante gasped, turning away. “We had a deal?”

  Dragni laughed, “Would you rather the Phoenix revive our precious master, or let your baby brother live.” Dante had no words, as Dragni slowly exited the throne room with one final statement. “Jai Marshall is the key to our master's resurrection, Dante. Prove your loyalty to the Specters.” He is carried away, leaving Dante alone to deal with the decision. Kill his brother, the only one he cared for, to resurrect the blade. Or let his fate decide.

  Dante sighed. “Damnit. Jai…”

  …

  “My friend…

  If you are reading this, then you have been a part of this journey. It’s been a long and brutal one, but we survived, haven’t we? For so long the world felt like a monster trying to bring us down, but we thrived. Every mortal in our realm’s region survived. So will yours. I have gone by many names, Pegasus, Omar Marshall, Diborn, Mr. Black, Pale King, and The Hero who defied the Blade. All is good and well, but I never could have done this alone.

  I come to you today because Belkos is strong. A college of magic that creates the warriors of the future. We open our borders to the entire world now. Every man and woman who dreams of standing up against darkness may very well be the asset needed to rid the Specters for good. I cannot lie to you all, this battle is long and extraneous. But faith is to be had, for we won the first Lotus War. I Omar Marshall, son of the last Chronicler of the Lotus Wars, Diborn, hero, and King of the Pale come to you with this offer.

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  Seek our nation, the second one of the Pale. A nation created to strengthen this world and make it one of peace. This invitation is for the man and woman chosen underneath its seal. We hope to be honored with your presence. As my late father told me, “You are free now…” so let us free this world from the impending darkness together.”

  Omar Marshall, Chronicler of the Lotus Wars

  Omar finished writing the letter, stamping the crest seal of the College of Belkos upon it. He smiled, pushing it towards the thousand other letters at his side with the same seal. Vibrant and smiling, a new profound look for him. He carried himself with pride and confidence poured out of him.

  The dorm to his residence upon the highest tower in Belkos squeaked catching his attention. Magnus in his Viking fur coat walked in. “They are gathered for you.” He smiled. “Your grace.”

  A golden dawn illuminated the room, and the air filled with a warm stillness. Omar followed Magnus as the warriors of Belkos and their mages gathered in the great hall. The snow-white and gold banners of a Pegasus horse and its knight riding into battle unfurled in the breeze. A symbol of hope now. The sigil of a better future.

  Everyone in Belkos gathered as the massive doors to the great hall swung open. All of the warriors stood in line, leaving a walkway for Omar. He wore a white cloak with the same golden Pegasus and knight on his back. His royal robes were comforting and welcoming to every man who presented themselves among him. The college's eyes fixated on him, as history rewrote itself once more.

  “All show honor to his grace.” A healed Rios, freed from the Lotus Blades grasp wore his golden metal armor. His hair was shorter and an eyepatch covered the old crimson eye he had. His words were cold as steel, but carried meaning as every person bowed to Omar.

  The crowd murmured in awe of Omar, yet Omar was in awe of the respect they offered him.

  “Here stands Omar, son of Darius, Chronicler of the Lotus Wars, the rightful heir to the bearer of chronicles of the world. By his deeds, in defeating the Lotus Blade has he proven himself worthy to the nation of the Pale and its allies. Here we proclaim him as Chronicler of the Lotus Wars and the Second “True” King of the Pale. Long may he reign!” His mother delivered an impactful speech, her voice trembled with excitement and fear of all that was to come.

  The crowd answered. “Long may he reign.”

  Maeve stood beside her, as the golden and white quartz stone was empty beside them. Natasha watched from the crowd, along with Amy and her classmates. Her friend accomplished a deed no man thought possible.

  “His escort, Magnus, son of Mary Ann, the Nord King of the Venslerik Clan, proven in his confidence and ability to be named Guardian to the Chronicler, as his protector and Knight. Long may he serve!” Hera nodded to Magnus, who shared one back. The gathering carried her message. “Long may he serve.”

  Omar arrived at the throne. He carried his glance from the throne, to his family, then to the crowd of those he swore to protect. Magnus and Rios stood at both sides of the throne holding a firm confidence in him. A lowly Diborn who was sent by his nation to fight at the borders, now held the faith of its people, as its leader. Omar gulped. Nervously, he admitted this journey was long. Everything, he learned it prepared him for this.

  “Our Lady from the south, the Archduke of Edindale, presents the Pale King his rightful crown.” Luna appeared from the middle of the crowd. A dress made of white diamonds and pearls blossomed the sight. Omar was stunned, as she took calculated steps towards him, holding a crown worthy of a King.

  A crystal white ice-colored crown with onyx gemstones all around it. It reflected the golden horizon with a peaceful glow. Every man and woman could get lost in its beauty. He smiled as she brushed passed everyone before she made it to the final step in front of him. She bowed, presenting him with the crown. “Your crown,” she smiled so brightly, a blush formed naturally. “Your grace.”

  Omar bowed, as Luna raised the crown over his head and gently placed it over him. His eyes shut as he understood the responsibility he took. The people in the great hall clapped, as he grasped Luna’s hands gently. Their connection like threads of an instrument meant to play together. They reached for each other, delivering a slow, warm kiss. The crowd clapped and whistles soared. The new era of Eurafalia had arrived.

  “Long may he live!” The crowd shouted. As the celebration had begun.

  Belkos a nation outside Edindale, stood with the revolution. The days of darkness were over. The fires of war had burned themselves dry, leaving the lands of Eurafalia at a temporary cease fire. “The war is not over…” Omar stated, standing atop his balcony, with Luna, Maeve, Rios, Magnus, and Natasha all at his side.

  One breath at a time. In the overpass of the college, green roots of grass began to spur from under the snow. A silent testament to the still nations' renewal. For the Pale finally awoke from its still slumber.

  The memory of the Soulless Hero would be a story that lived on in time, the same as Mystic Hawk. The story of a man who defied the odds and battled himself and the odds to save what he held dear. The memory would endure like he did. His deeds would be etched into history, not just stone. The hearts of all who lived free from the blade’s grasp would remember him.

  “No. This war isn’t over.” Magnus gasped, putting his shoulder around Omar. “But, we have won. And we are free from this darkness.”

  Omar’s story would be told by firesides and sung in the grand halls of many nations for eons. When the most hated and despised being in the realms showed that even the soulless can make a difference. Even the most broken can become heroes. That no obstacle is too grand. That any man or woman could be a light that rose against the shadows of darkness.

  Omar felt the end of this tale but welcomed the new beginning. “Without you, none of this could be a reality.” Everyone on the balcony playfully pushed Magnus. “Thank you for believing.”

  The beginning of the end set behind the evening sun. A renewal of hope, remade by the courage of man, friendship, and unyielding strength of those who stood up to fight. Not for glory, but for the precious gift of life and everlasting peace.

  Though the future was uncertain, one thing became certain. Omar looked upon the horizon gathered with his family. In confidence, he could finally relinquish the hold of the dream he held deep in his heart. “We are free now, and it feels so good to finally be home…”